After-effects
by DanishCookieBlueBox
Summary: An after-Aftershock fiction. Claire doesn't die.
1. Destiny's a bich

***A\N: This is basically an AU story, my take on what might have happened after Aftershock if Claire hadn't died. I guess I just felt that she deserved more time. I couldn't have her die like that.

Please be aware of the fact that I am not a native speaker and this is my first attempt on a fic and, let's say, on anything longer than 130 words in English. I swear I did my best here. Please let me know if you find that anything is wrong or sounds funny and strange, for it will make my English better, and feel free to comment and criticize to help me improve. Thanks for reading***

Rey looked at Lennie. He had been watching his partner closely during the last few days, not liking the distant look in his eyes. He knew how a tough case could affect an officer, as he himself had been taken aback by his first case in the new precint, and sure as Hell knew that the case they were on right now was a disturbing one. The poor woman lying dead after pleading desperately for her life, for God's and her children's sake, was still haunting his sleep after two weeks of investigations. But for Lennie there was more than that, of that he was sure.

The woman was a good person, one who taught night classes for those who wouldn't get a second chance from anyone else. A lot of people said to them that they would have never thanked her enough, even had she lived a thousand years. She was deeply loved by her husband, her children, by everyone around her. Among all people, she really didn't deserve it.

But for Lennie, there was also another woman who didn't deserve her fate. It was a young, nice, good looking woman who was now lying in a hospital bed, in intensive care, damaged almost beyond repair. A woman Rey didn't know very well, but that he had seen around so many times he couldn't count them, so dedicate to her job, always ready to help them find a piece of information among thousands of papers. A woman who was taking a drunk friend back home. A good person, whose car had been smashed by some drunk idiot who didn't know what he was doing. Lennie was taking it hard on himself. He had made the most sensible decision, not driving while being drunk, and still - bad timing and shitty irony of the world all the way, as Claire was in a coma right now because of a driver who was not as accurate as he was.

He had been called that night by the Lieutenant. Lennie was at the hospital and he had to pick him up, Van Buren said she was going to explain things later, right now he had to move. Her voice was thick and pained and sounded very serious, so he quickly sneaked out of bed - his own bed, not the one of the young woman he had spent the day with - thanking God he had picked up the call, and left his wife a note on the fridge. At the hospital, Rey was surprised by mr. McCoy's presence. He was completely out of himself. Jeez, the man looked like he could kill Lennie at any minute. Van Buren was trying to calm him down and had at least managed to keep some physical distance between the two men. Lennie, on his part, was slumped on a chair, his head in his hands, his face tense, eyes completely worn out. _I must be missing something_, thought Rey, looking at the scene, _What the hell is going on?_

Lennie himself had explained him the car accident. Later, with tears in his eyes and slurred words, he had said that Claire was a daughter to him, that the doctors had to save her. McCoy kept watching him from the wall where he had been cornered by Van Buren, a hand on his mouth to prevent it from screaming out. By the time Rey had managed to take Lennie home, as Van Buren was having more and more trouble containing McCoy, Claire was still in surgery. Lennie didn't remember any of it, and neither Rey nor the Lieutenant dared bringing it up, but the scene had brought to Rey a totally new perception of his partner, a more human aspect of him, one he sympathized with.

That was two nights before. Now Lennie seemed normal, really, the same hard, cynical officer he knew, the tough officer Lennie was used to show to anyone. But he couldn't concentrate. He often forgot what he had to say and couldn't do any paperwork without making at least one stupid mistake. Right now, his stare was wandering into space without focusing on anything. He wouldn't talk about it, wouldn't take a day off. Everything was always all right for him. But Rey could bet Lennie wasn't sleeping.

And then there was the Loo. She wasn't ok as well. She had talked to Claire just an hour before the accident happened, they had shared dinner: no way it wasn't affecting her. She wouldn't talk as well, not to him anyway, but he could sense her guilt: had she delayed Claire's departure... Just a minute or two. Yes, maybe things would be different. Maybe things would be ok.

_Sometimes destiny's a bitch_, thought Rey.


	2. Those are pearls that were his eyes

"You're taking the Salva case" said Adam, his no-nonsense tone unusually getting on Jack's nerves.

He tried not to let it show, though. Adam meant very much to him. However, he really was not ready to take a serious case right now. He decided to put on his arrogant mode not to let that show as well.

"Salva will plead out. An answering machine can handle it."

"Nothing on the front page of The Post is that easy. You'll need a second chair."

Somewhere deep down in himself, Jack knew Adam was right. But Claire... He just wasn't ready.

"I'm doing fine on my own."

Adam side eyed him, then faced him and glared up to him with a 'no-you're-not' look.

"You're not getting paid all that money to look up cases in the library."

Snotty remark, but his voice was caring. He was right and Jack knew. All right, he could handle the case. But not another assistant.

"If I need somebody, I can borrow Crocker for the afternoon."

"Crocker..." the poor guy had his desk full of Claire's cases, that he had had to reassign, and was nearing a breakdown. "What do you know about Jamie Ross? "

"Not much. She used to work at Gorton and Steinhart". _And I don't really trust ex-defense attorneys_, he wanted to add, but eventually opted for suppressing the line.

"She was married to Neal Gorton. She asked to stay on the case."

_The fuck I care_, thought Jack. "She's been in the office for less than six months."

"She's had five years as a criminal defense attorney. Eight homicide trials, seven acquittals."

"...and a kid in day care. I need somebody who can put in the late hours."

"...to watch the answering machine? I like her. So will you. "

Jack knew he should reply. Knew he would, had he been his normal self, but he couldn't find it in himself. He just felt spent, and sad, and, well, utterly destroyed. He just glared at Adam a little and turned around, knowing that his stare couldn't possibly mean anything but weakness.

Winning so easily against Jack was not something Adam was used to. To be honest, he didn't like it at all. The Jack Adam knew would have never let something pass if he didn't like it. But this here was Jack's ghost and he hated to see it. He was opening the door when Adam stopped him.

"Jack".

He turned.

"How is she?"

Jack swallowed hard, took a deep breath. Adam surprised himself doing the same.

"They suspended the drugs that were keeping her in a coma two days ago. She hasn't woken up yet, but they say it's normal because her body is very damaged."

Adam nodded slightly while Jack spoke. The tall man looked like a little child struggling to remember all the very difficult words that he had been taught about a very difficult situation. _And once he was my best attorney_, Adam thought, but it was a painful thought, so he willed it away.

"Are the doctors confident?"

Jack just shrugged and kept staring into Adam's eyes, without really focusing on them. Just as Adam was starting to find that blank stare unbearable, Jack turned and left without saying a word. It pained Adam to see Jack like this more than he would have consciously allowed himself, especially since there was nothing he could do. _Maybe if miss Kincaid were to be here, she would know how to cheer him up_, he thought, chuckling and wincing at the same time: that exactly was the matter.

He smiled a little: it was fun thinking that he didn't like Claire very much at first, because in the end he had grown to really appreciate her. She was, indeed, just like Jack had described her once: one hell of a lawyer. He couldn't suppress a grin while recalling the conversation he had had with her when he had just assigned her to Jack's office, the one where he had commanded her not to fall for him, and the similar one he had had with Jack. "Keep your pants zipped" he had said to him, and "Keep him out of your bed, miss Kincaid" to her. They both had precedents in that field, for Christ's sake, and another blow could have possibly ended the both of their careers, especially hers. But they were never two to take advice, were they? It seemed like they couldn't help themselves, and all was left to him was to turn a blind eye to it. Ignorance is bliss, they say, and it sure is right. But at a certain point he couldn't ignore the affair waved under his nose, because people were really starting to talk. He remembered the confrontation with Jack, which had led to nowhere. Jack was not letting her go. He was serious. She was serious. He was happy, they both were. And she was pregnant.

Adam felt he had to stop thinking. The unpredictability of life, right now, was just too much for his old heart. Any other name on the file of a stupid car accident and the case would have been sent to Street Crimes. He wouldn't even have blinked an eye looking at it. But this was hitting close to home, it was a real tragedy for each of them. _That's what people feel when somebody takes something, someone, from them_, Adam thought. _Of course the driver will be prosecuted. But it doesn't matter. This time, justice doesn't matter to any of us_.

And then his train of thoughts came back, taking him in – the child who had died before being born; the woman struggling to keep herself alive in a hospital bed; the man struggling to keep himself together in the next room. He had to stop and really not go to the place in his mind where Claire might never recover from the coma. It was too hard to think it could possibly get worse.


	3. After the agony in stony places

The room was yellow and small. Some dirt was on the floor and on the walls and the place was just unpleasant altogether. Lennie was sitting on one of the chairs forming a circle in the centre of the room, between an old woman who was losing her hair and a young man who couldn't stop sniffing and rubbing the back of his head. All around him people were sitting uneasily, and not only because the chairs were uncomfortable. A lot of them had already shared their misery with everyone. You could easily recognize them: eyes fixed on their feet, arms folded and a tense expression on their face. _This is just awful_, thought Lennie. How exactly was telling everyone his problems going to help him?

" I want to stop. I really do", was saying a very nervous and very young woman, "I have two children and I have to raise them the right way. I know I can't do it if I'm drunk; the point is that I can't stop. Social care said they're gonna take my kids away from me, but I won't let it happen. No way. I just need... A little help. That's all. It's no wrong to need help, is it?"

She looked down at the floor, twisting her hands furiously and fighting the tears forming in her eyes. A single one escaped and ran slowly down her cheek, disappearing under her jaw and then reappearing on her neck. She didn't dare wipe it, hoping nobody would notice it, but another one was already following the path. For a little while, silence embraced the sight of the tears streaming down her face.

At a certain point, the Tim guy who was chairing the meeting dared break the spell:

"Well", he said with a forced smile, looking Lennie in the eye,"What about you? Please say your name and the reason why you're here."

Lennie wanted to run. Seriously. For a moment he just watched those people watching him and kept his mouth shut, trying to find the courage to admit his weakness to everyone. Or, maybe, to admit it to himself. He sighed, then took a deep breath. _Come on, let's get it done_, he thought.

"My name is Leonard and I am here because... Because..."

Man, he didn't really want to do this. He already had too many times before, and none of them had worked. In the end, relapse was always a step or two ahead, just waiting for the time he really needed a glass, such as a bad case, an execution, a very bad lunch with a very angry and sad daughter. This was not going to be different. He was not going to be different. He was just the man who would destroy every good he was given, like a bull in a china shop. _What am I doing here?_, he asked himself. But then he thought that if he hadn't been that drunk that night Claire would be okay, and that maybe his daughter wouldn't hate him if he hadn't been such a jerk when she was little. _And not only when she was little_, he added to himself, and felt horrible. This was not only about him. To be honest, this was mostly not about him. He had to come out of the shit he had thrown himself into. So he started, speaking, as his usual, very matter-of-factly:

"Alcohol has ruined my life. All of it. I'm 56 and I got divorced twenty years ago because of it, then married again, and got divorced again, yeah, guess why. My daughters hate me. A kid that I cared about, well, she's in a coma right now because she was taking me home, because I was drunk, and she was hit by..."

The lights, so blurred, the world passing by out of the car window... How vivid the memory was in his mind, how clear. He was drowning his soul in the glass, trying to kill his remorse, his guilt, and then, out of the blue, she'd offered him a ride. "Lennie, I doubt your daughter hates you", she'd said, just before...

"She was hit by a drunk driver."

He shut up and looked away. When the knot in his throat didn't threaten anymore to choke him, he spoke again:

"If I could go back I'd change it all. I would stay away from the bottles when my girls were little. I would walk past the bar I was the night the kid and I had the accident. But I can't. All I can do is not to be that drunk driver for somebody else, stay sober and regain my daughters' trust. I don't want them to hate me – No, I want them to be proud of me. And I don't want to risk losing my job, as I did more than once because of alcohol, because, you know, my job's all I have. So... Yeah, that's basically why I'm here."

The bald man who was sitting right in front of him, across the circle, looked at him nodding.

"It's just the same here, mate. Just the same."

The man said his name was Jack, and Lennie instantly thought of McCoy. _Maybe a rehab would do him too some good_, thought Lennie with a very, very small inner smile. _McCoy_. The man who, that night of two weeks before, had said "To hell with her!" with such a bitter smile, it was not easy to shake it off. _Mom always says:"You must be careful what you wish for, 'cause it might come true"_, thought Lennie, _Maybe McCoy's mom didn't tell him. Or maybe he didn't care, and it is very plausible. But the way he had to learn his lesson... No, I don't think he deserved it. I don't think any man in the world would deserve it_.

The kid cared for McCoy, as strange as it seemed to Lennie. _How could someone care for an ass like McCoy?_, he thought. But Claire did, or else she wouldn't have bothered to come at that bar at all, after witnessing an execution she didn't and wouldn't justify - while McCoy did. So, maybe it was time to use the worldly overused L-word for their affair, Lennie didn't know and, to be honest, didn't think it was his business. What was sure was that she was carrying his baby. That the doctors had said. Once again he wondered how McCoy could live with that - finding a woman you like and have her like you, all of you, even your worst side, trusting her and building a relationship and having a baby, just to have everything shattered in the blinking of an eye.

And, in fact, McCoy was not living too well. "You know... Before it happened... She wanted to quit. I talked her out of it" had said McCoy just two nights before, when Lennie had asked him if he wanted to go for a couple of drinks, just the two of them. McCoy had declined, but let his mask slip for once, seeking some resemblance of human comfort in him. Lennie had mumbled something about how he himself could have walked past the bar, and suddenly had let himself out of the door, closing it behind him without looking back.

For certain things, he and McCoy were just the same: they didn't know how to show pain - and didn't know how to take comfort. They just didn't know how to be humans, sometimes, and those times it was best, for the both of them, to be alone. Besides, he wasn't ready for McCoy's pain and guilt, neither was he ready for his own.

_It's just too much for one man_, he thought.


	4. Destiny's kind

There was only one possible explanation for it: he wasn't being himself. Only three weeks before he had watched a man die on a capital execution without blinking, deeply convinced that Justice had rightly taken its course. Now, instead, he was opposing his assistant not to consider the defendant's crime a capital offence. Just two months before, attorney and assistant were exactly in the switched positions. But, anyway, that wasn't his assistant. That wasn't Claire.

He had been feeling strange lately: she wasn't with him, but it felt like she was, as he constantly thought of her, of what she would say, what she would do. Her voice was in his mind. Sometimes he mistaked miss Ross for her. Sometimes he called her Claire.

He was stuck: something had to happen, but he couldn't do anything about it, and since he was a man of action - always had been - the situation was just unbearable. All he could do was sit his sorry ass in his chair and wait: she could either wake up or not wake up ever again, but nobody knew what it would be of the two, and it really wasn't living. It can be frustrating when you're waiting for something that will bring happiness, but waiting for something to happen, knowing that it might not be good at all, is just crazy. And crazy was he feeling indeed. _No, this is not living_, he thought, _this is dying slowly_.

Meanwhile, while he was waiting in line for his fate to come and touch him, her voice in his head wouldn't leave him alone. It kept saying that capital punishment was wrong. _And I'm actually listening to it. I didn't listen to her when she was real and I'm doing it now_, he often thought. But the edges of her disappointed expression were way too sharp, the sight too vivid in his imagination not to pay it attention. So be it, then, no capital punishment: the man should at least send flowers to her bed in the hospital, because she had just saved his life. _I hope you're happy_, thought Jack, and he really meant it: he would have done anything to have that smooth voice of hers compliment him. Or at least shut up and let him concentrate on his job, and not her, for a couple of hours. Just a couple of hours. Maybe in that couple of hours he could have a chance of finding himself again, of finding it in himself to face that difficult trial.

Maybe he could find the strength to face reality. Because he knew he had to face reality. And reality was that her body was a wreck and her brain had been severely damaged and doctors weren't even sure she would ever get out of coma. That was the reason why Adam had assigned him a new assistant. That was the reason why that miss Ross had already moved all of her things upstairs, in Claire's cubicle. Yes, that was reality. But at the end of the day, when usually he would get out of the office with her, he wasn't able to face it. So he glanced quickly at his watch and looked for the scotch bottle in the drawer.

Drinking before driving. He didn't care. He could fall off the bike and smash his head on the street. And die, yes. He didn't care. And then he thought of investing, maybe, someone's wife. That someone's pain. He was going to take a cab.

His pain had been blinding, really, and he couldn't think of doing something like that to another person. And Claire wasn't even his wife. He was nothing, legally, to her, he wasn't taking any decision for her, doctors weren't talking to him. He meant nothing for her now. And he meant nothing without her, by the way. Mac, her stepfather, was keeping him informed, calling him anytime she got better or worse and hiding the fact from her mother. And so Jack lived, constantly waiting for something to happen, constantly stuck between the hope of a call from Mac and the fear of the very same thing. He jumped every time the phone rang. And it usually was work, but he still hoped, and feared.

And then, at his third gulp on the scotch, the phone rang, like it always did when he was thinking about it. It was starting to scare him a little, the fact that it never rang for real. _Hallucinations are clearly not a good sign_, he thought. But then it rang a second time.

"McCoy"

"Hello mr. McCoy. It's... Mac. I just wanted to say that I have good news. Claire is out of coma."

"You sure?" he asked, his voice coming out a little choked.

"Of course. I suggest you come now. You know... Claire's mother's out of the city for a few hours. If she knows about this call I'm dead, but I think it's right for you to see her."

_It sure as hell is_, thought Jack. He mumbled a thank you and hang up. He quickly got up, grabbed his jacket.

He didn't even knock on the door to Adam's office, he just opened it, to find a slightly perplexed Jamie Ross inside. He didn't care he was interrupting something. Adam glared at him with a 'you-must-have-a-very-good-reason-for-this' look.

"Claire is out of coma"

He saw Adam's eyes light up and a small smile creep up his face.

"Then what are you still doing here?"

Jack didn't say anything, just turned around and left, leaving Adam and a now very perplexed miss Ross behind. She turned to Adam with a small smile. "I guess that's good news", she said, and she seemed genuine. She had just lost her new position, but eventually in her scale of values another person's life meant much more to her than her job. It was something to be grateful for, and surely Adam was feeling very grateful.

"It sure is, miss Ross. I would really appreciate it if you stayed here to celebrate this little joy with me".

She sat in the chair in front of the desk. At six-thirty p.m. they were toasting with some scotch.

"To life", said Jamie.

"And to strong people who struggle for it and win", added Adam.

They both raised their glasses smiling.

_Sometimes destiny is kind_, thought Adam.


	5. Blank

_AN: Soooo... Sorry for the long absence. Just had some trouble with the story... I didn't know where it was going, didn't know what I wanted to make out of it. Actually, I still don't know, but I'm determined to try ahaha _

_So, thank you for the time you spent reading and for the words you wrote to me... Remember to correct me if I write something funny and... well... hope you enjoy!_

She was lying in bed, eyes wide open staring at the white ceiling. She was feeling quite strange: she had the impression that she had slept a dreamless sleep, and for reasons unknown she was finding it disturbing. Or maybe it was the fact that she had no idea about where she was, she couldn't say which of the two was the most disturbing.

She looked around at the white walls, at the white sheets surrounding her and at her pale, slightly bruised left hand. Except for the red of the bruises, there was no color whatsoever anywhere. Hell, even the floor was white. It was just too much for her taste.

"Hello"

A white-clothed woman smiled while approaching her. She thought she recognized something in her, but couldn't point out what it was.

"I am nurse Margareth". Oh, she thought. _A nurse, yeah. So this must be a... a..._

"You are at Mount Sinai Hospital" _Right, a hospital!_, she thought.

"How are you feeling?"

"Not well." she said, adding "I feel like... Like I... A truck over me."

It was so much trouble for her to speak, she was starting to worry, but the nurse smiled kindly.

"Do you know why you are here?", she said while increasing slightly the dosage of the painkillers that sped through her veins.

She thought about it a little, then shook her head no. She didn't know. Why didn't she?

Seeing her puzzled look, the nurse reassured her: "Don't worry about it. It's normal. You've been in an induced coma for two weeks, then the coma persisted for another week. Your body and your brain need a little recovery"

Of all the nurse had said, she had only understood "normal", "coma" and "recovery".

"Why...?"

She wanted to ask why she couldn't understand things, but she didn't go on and the nurse misinterpreted her question.

"You were involved in a car accident. Now, really, don't worry about it. I'm calling the doctor and he's going to visit you."

She still wasn't understanding much, but the nurse's smile was nice and warm and she didn't really want her to go. Oh ,come on, she told herself.

The doctor arrived in a few minutes. He smiled as he got to her.

"Good morning miss Kincaid. I am doctor Wordsworth. As the nurse has already explained to you, you were involved in..."

The doctor kept speaking, but he had lost his patient on that "Miss Kincaid".

Miss Kincaid. Everything was spinning around her. Was it her surname? She just couldn't remember...

"Are you all right, miss?"

She looked at him with her mouth open, her eyes wide with fear. The doctor distanced himself from her a little, while realization hit him.

"Do you remember your name, miss?"

Her gaze went blank, her eyebrows forced together in an extreme attempt to concentrate. What was her name? What was her age? What her profession? Did she have any family? Who was she? She couldn't remember what was, well, the most important piece of information about her life. No, it was worse. She couldn't remember any piece of information at all. For what regarded her memory, she didn't even have a name.

"Miss?"

My name. She shook her head, her eyes watering. She brought a hand to her neck. It was getting difficult to breathe.

"But you know?" she said.

"Do you? Do you?" she questioned, panicked and screaming now. The ECG signalled a worrying increase of the heartbeat.

"What happened? What happening now? Who me? Why I can't... speak... normal..." she screamed, tearing at the sheets, trying to let out frustration and fear.

The anxiety in her voice, the shakey hands, the dilated pupils... The doctor easily recognized the signs of a panick attack. That was clearly not a good thing for a patient just out of coma. He called for the nurse, while starting sedating her.

The girl on the bed was crying and shaking, her hands on her face. The doctor took no time considering the situation, he just kneeled by her side and took her face in his hands, having her look at him, trying to act and speak the most quiet he could:

"Your name is Claire. Claire. Do you understand?"

Claire nodded a little.

"What you are experiencing is memory loss and as unsettling as it feels, I promise it will get better..."  
"But what's happening?" Asked Claire once more, almost whispering this time, with a desperate sob. She wasn't understanding a word. Just her name, that at least she understood.

The doctor kept speaking quietly, touching her face just like a father would do, and her fear slowly went away. She probably still didn't understand a word he said, but at least her pulse had slowed down, so the doctor just kept speaking and touching her hair, as it seemed to bring her comfort.

Little by little, as the drugs kicked in, Claire felt every muscle in her body relax. Soon she couldn't remember anymore why she had felt so helpless only minutes before. Everything was just blurry, the doctor was blurry too, and maybe it wasn't that she couldn't understand what he was saying, maybe he was not saying anything at all. She spiralled for some minutes around meaningless ramblings, forgetting all about hospital and doctor and nurse. Eventually, she just closed her eyes. _I've had enough of this shit_, she thought. Without realizing that that had been her most coherent thought of the day.


	6. Lucky

The two men in the white hallway of the hospital didn't know what to say to eachother. And, truth be told, they didn't really like eachother.

Mac couldn't, or maybe didn't want to, remember why Jack McCoy was there. He had called him in an _impetus_ of kindness, but had immediately regretted it. He was not Claire's biological father, but the idea that she could hang out and, well, be intimate with a man that almost paired his age was just disturbing for him. And then, Claire had always been attracted to men who could wield power over her and who, sometimes, just didn't use it very well. Like Judge Thayer, for example. Mac had always had a feeling that this McCoy here could do the same to her at any time. Sitting next to the man that could bring his almost-daughter to the ruin of her career - and, well, life - was unsettling. Not to mention the fact that the man was one of the causes for which she was lying in a hospital bed. So Mac was trying to justify the man sitting next to him, that he himself had called, and the fact that he himself had called him. And he was feeling like a total idiot.

Jack, on his side, was still shocked by the lack of the bowtie in his reluctant mate. But now that he thought better about it, maybe it wasn't the first time he saw him without it. Yes, the night of the accident, when he and her mother had arrived, he wasn't wearing it. But then, Jack had been way too distracted to notice.

Once, Claire had confessed to him that she had often mused Mac would even sleep with that thing on. Man, they had laughed so hard that night. She had also said that once she had taken all of those bowties of his out of the drawer where he stored them and had thrown them out of the window. On his way home, poor Mac had found his favourite items scattered on the grass of the garden. "He was so angry", she had said, bent in half from laughter, "but you should have seen his face, Jack. It was worth the two weeks I spent cleaning the basement". Jack was smiling now, just like he had smiled then: much more because of her laughter than from imagining the scene.

Mac, in the meanwhile, was ages away from discovering the reason of the smile. He was huffing in his mind about the insensitivity of Jack's laugh in a contest like this, trying to extinguish the warmth of his smile with his own ice-cold glare. But then he saw the smile vanish and a sad glow descend on Jack, the usual sad glow he had been wearing for weeks now, when he thought nobody was watching and when he wasn't thinking about someone noticing. So Mac just looked away, thinking that maybe the man cared a bit about his kid. Maybe. He wasn't sure yet.

All the while Jack was finally thinking about the baby. During the weeks they had been waiting for Claire, no-one had ever really thought about the baby, not even he. He was busy enough thinking about her, about losing her, and he had just forgotten all about the little thing she was bearing. Like you forget an umbrella on a train, just like that. You just don't think about it.

But now it was crushing on him. Now that Claire was out of coma, now that he was at the hospital waiting to see her, now it was really crushing on him.

They were not trying to have a baby. It had just happened. She was quite scared when she told him, she surely didn't expect him to be happy. Well, he didn't expect to be happy indeed. But surprise, surprise: he was. He just was, and he had smiled, and she had smiled and the world had looked altogether a nice place to live in. That had been two weeks before the accident. Oh how things change.

A two weeks fetus is not even considered a person, and Jack had never considered one as such. But it still hurt like Hell that now the baby was gone, and nobody was going to be punished for that. Jack found himself thinking once more about the bastard that had killed his baby and almost killed his woman.

His woman. If Claire had ever been to hear something like that, she would have punched him in the face. But Claire wasn't listening, and Jack didn't think about that.

He just felt the rage, that insane rage that had been boiling inside of him for weeks, stream once more through him. He wanted to kill the man with his hands.

And actually he clenched those big hands of his, but Mac didn't notice.

He was busy looking at the dust glowing in the air. From the window came a ray from the sunny day outside and that ray was showing on the white wall little particles of dust. They were going up or down without end. Without sense.

He remembered the first time he had seen Claire. Her mother had arranged a dinner, the three of them. Claire was a nice twelve year old that didn't speak very often. When she did, he regretted hoping to hear her voice. She was caustic, angry, biting like a raging dog. And smart, also.

He had loved her as soon as she had bitten him with a sarcastic remark. He felt she didn't love him back, but he didn't care. He wasn't the kind of man who needed to receive love to give love in turn. He just took pleasure in seeing her come back to him, sometimes, even look up to him as some kind of strange father figure. She didn't need to say she loved him to do that. She didn't even need to admit to herself that she actually liked him, to do that.

The doctor found the two men looking at their shoes when he approached them.

"Mr Geller?"

Mac abruptly stood up, like a child caught doing something he wasn't supposed to.

Also Jack stood up, but slowly. The doctor eyed him, then Mac.

"There's news" he said, shooting another meaningful glare at Jack.

Finally Mac took the hint:

"Ah, yeah, you can tell to the both of us"

"All right. So... miss Kincaid woke up two hours ago, but had some sort of melt down. We had to sedate her. This made it impossible to run the usual tests on her, but from what I witnessed I feel sure enough that she is experiencing PTA, post-traumatic amnesia. It seems also that the damage to her brain is making it difficult for her to understand a normal conversation and express her thoughts".

Mac swallowed hard. Jack just lowered his eyes. _So, it's bad_, he thought. Funny, he wasn't expecting this at all. Maybe he should have.

They stayed silent while seconds passed, their eyes blinked, birds outside sang their happy songs. Summer glimmered everywhere, it was unbearable. How were they supposed to take in what the doctor was saying?

Eventually, Jack found the courage to ask:

"Is it... irreversible?"

"It might be. Or might not. It's too early to know now"

"So we wait", he spat out, getting impatient. He was sick of waiting.

"Yes"

"Again", he growled, feeling rage flowing once again. This doctor obviously wasn't doing enough. Hell, the whole hospital wasn't doing enough. How could they not know if she was or wasn't going to be okay? It was their fucking job. He clenched his fists and jaw.

The doctor noticed.

"I'm sorry sir", he said, "but as I told you, when she woke up she had a panick attack. She has been asleep for the last two hours. As soon as we run the tests on her, we'll be able to tell you more"

This seemed to calm Jack down a bit, but his hands were still trembling. He didn't know whether from anger or fear.

"You said amnesia... This means she doesn't remember the accident?", asked Mac.

"Yes, but not only that..."

"What does she remember...? Us? Her mother maybe?"

"Sir" , the doctor paused a little, looking at the floor and then at the two men, "she didn't even remember her own name"

The gasp that exited Jack's mouth surprised him and Mac. The doctor, instead, didn't flinch.

"Look", he said, "in this cases there is usually substantial room for improvement. She might remember all in a few weeks and regain her skills quickly, because she is only twenty-five, her brain is still young. But she might not, and I have to prepare you for this eventuality. She might not recover her memories. She might not recover her skills. She might experience changes in personality. Surely from now on it's a long and hard way to go. She'll go to rehabilitation, she will have to do exercises to get her skills back and it will be hard for her. You'll have to be close to her all the time and never force her, just help her remember, encourage her in everything she does. Obviously, don't tell her about the abortion"

Both men nodded.

"Not unless she remembers and asks questions about it, of course. Apart from her brain, everything in her body is almost fine. Well, apart from the broken hip. I already told you that we believe she will always need a crutch to walk for the rest of her life. Anyway, considering the accident she was involved in, she is very lucky to just get away with this".

_Lucky_, thought Jack. _Lucky_, thought Mac. The both of them just couldn't cope with the adjective.


	7. Short-legged lies

As the car made its way through the traffic jungle she wondered if she'd made a mistake.

Going home. Jack's home, and her own. He'd said they had been living together for only two weeks before her accident, but she had already got rid of her own apartment. Apparently, she was in a hurry. She wondered why, but trusted her previous judgement. Her previous self.

It still felt strange, but she'd been getting used to this way of thinking: if she liked it before, she might like it now too. Or so she hoped.

And besides, she didn't really like her mother. She liked Mac, but Mac lived with her mother. And Mac had said she could trust Jack. And Claire felt she could trust the both of them. But still, after all she had only known them for three weeks.

"You know, it's strange I'm driving", said Jack, turning to her, smiling to her, even if they had been stuck in the middle of the city for forty minutes now, "When we have to use a car, it's you who usually drives".

And she wondered, she really wondered why he used the present tense, as if she were the same. _Was_ she still the same? The same as who? She didn't even know who she was before.

It was hard to understand and hard to express. She felt she was living the life of a stranger. She _had become_ that person, but still she knew nothing about her. She wondered if she really belonged to her previous life. She wondered if she could fit.

* * *

Life was not easy, but not too difficult either. She had refused to have him sleep on the couch, even if he had insisted. _If I liked it before..._, she'd told herself. Besides, it didn't seem fair to her to have him sleep on the couch, when he had been cooking and washing most of the dishes everyday and working and helping her any way he could – because that's what he'd been doing and she really felt grateful for it.

Jack on his side was doing everything he could because he couldn't exactly figure out _what_ to do for her, what she needed. She unsettled him. She would be silent most of the time and he'd be the one who had to make the first move, ask her something, force her into a conversation. When he did, he could feel she was feeling uncomfortable. Because actually she spoke much slower than normal people. She couldn't find the words. She stammered. And she knew it, she was not stupid.

She would do exercises in the bathroom, where she thought nobody would hear. Actually he heard her everytime, but she would never know. She'd try out difficult words over and over, she'd try to speak fluently and faster. When she got frustrated, she would hit the sink with her fist and groan. When it happened, Jack would ask her if she's okay. "Yes", she'd say, and her voice would crack just a little, "no need to come in". And he could break his heart listening for her cry on the other side. Because he'd never open the door: if she still was the same she was before, that'd be the best he could do for her.

* * *

He didn't tell her she was a lawyer, deciding that the pressure she had been putting on herself was enough already. He loved her determination, he really did, the fact that after only three days they had given her the cane she was already walking steadily, the effort she was putting into all the exercises for coordination and speech, the way she looked at photographs for hours every day trying to find something, anything that reminded her of herself... He just feared she would push too much. After all, there still was a hematoma squeezing her brain and until that got reabsorbed, they wouldn't know for sure how damaged her brain had been. He didn't want her to be hard on herself. He would tell her _Just give it time, Claire_.

But she still felt different from the other people, despite all her efforts her speech was still slow, too slow. She didn't want to go out, she didn't want to talk to people. When he took her to the park, she mostly remained silent, even if things between them were getting less and less awkward with every passing day and she'd started talking to him more freely.

To him, and to him only. She wouldn't answer the phone and didn't want to see any of her old friends. Jack periodically found himself having to explain to some Margot, Ruthie or Lennie of sorts – to the Lieutenant even – that no, Claire didn't feel like seeing them. That she most likely wouldn't recognise them anyway, and she would feel too bad about it. They actually called him quite often to ask him how she was doing and he was glad that they cared. But it was hard for him to keep reassuring them, when he didn't feel that sure himself. He just hoped the hematoma would get reabsorbed quickly, leaving no traces behind.

Once he and Ruthie were out for drinks after a trial and she asked him how Claire was doing. He answered on auto-pilot. Then she said: "And Jack, how are _you_ doing?". And there he broke down.

He didn't tell her she was a lawyer because he could't. He wouldn't be able to. Too much pain.


	8. Deal

Someone rang the doorbell. It took her a few seconds to decide she had to get up and open it. She would not have done it if Jack hadn't asked her to, but he had, before going out for some shopping. He was waiting for a friend.

She opened the door just a little, what was enough for her to take in the old man standing in front of it without exposing herself too much.

"Hi Claire", he said, so she opened the door fully, letting him in.

"Hi", she said, "you must be Jack's friend, right?"

Adam felt his heart sink at the slow pace the words were coming out from her mouth, at the sight of her so thin, pale, limping, hair still short, scar still visible on the side of her head, where they had cut to save her from the hemorragy... _God. The ghost of herself._

"You know, I'm your friend too", he said, trying on a small smile.

"Oh", she just replied, and gestured to the couch, sitting down on it herself. Jack hadn't told her.

"And what's your name?"

"Adam"

She nodded slowly, lips tight together. _I guess it didn't ring any bell in her brain_, thought Adam.

"And how do we know eachother?"

"From work"

She looked lost.

"I'm your boss. Both Jack's and yours"

It took her a few seconds to really, deeply understand his words. Then she felt a big, big hole open under her feet, swallowing her whole and taking her deep, deep down, to the center of the earth. Jack definitely hadn't told her.

"You, you...", she took a breath to steady herself, but it didn't work, "you mean I'm a lawyer?"

Adam just nodded, feeling a little lost himself.

* * *

So her life had been Jack's life. Keeping in mind tons of information and laws and rules and cases she had studied, speaking in front of a jury with the right words, in order to move them right where she wanted them... Without stammering. Speaking loud and clearly and at a normal pace. _Oh God. Oh God._

She had been wondering if she could still fit in her old life. Now she knew she couldn't.

* * *

"Why didn't you tell me?!"

As soon as Adam was out the door her fears and pain turned into blind rage.

"Why on earth didn't you tell me, Jack?"

She felt betrayed, he could see it in her eyes. He had never seen her like this, not even on their fights before. It looked like he'd fucked it all up. _Shit_.

"Because I love you, Claire"

He didn't know why he went for honesty in the end, but that was the truest statement that ever came from his mouth. She just stood in front of him, gaping, wondering what to make out of it. Speechless.

"I'm sorry, Claire. I should have told you. But it pained me. It pains me"

Claire just blankly looked at him, shaking slightly her head.

"You know what pains me? The fact that you have been maneuvering me like a puppet"

And neither Jack nor she even noticed that she was not speaking slowly this time, nor stammering.

"Claire, it's not like that, please, just..."

Her accusing stare was unbearable and Jack lowered his eyes to the ground.

"I'm sorry", he just said. _Little, she always makes me so little. Low. Vile. 'Cause I am.  
_

* * *

She was standing by the window, looking down at New York City's life, lost in thought. She'd been standing there for two hours and in the meanwhile the sun had gone down, but she hadn't turned the light on.

He found her there, standing in the mild darkness.

"Dinner's ready, if you want...", he said. _If you still feel like looking me in the eye._

She turned, startled, took him in.

"I'm sorry Jack"

_What_, he thought.

"No, I'm sorry, Claire. Really, really sorry"

"No, really Jack. I understand why you didn't tell me. It's just that... You know more about me than I do and it's... It's crazy"

He came to stand beside her. The light that came from the door left open lit her up from behind and he looked at her reflection on the glass of the window, so he could see her whole face. She was still looking down, a slight frown on her forehead. He put a hand on her back and, since she didn't tense, started drawing small circles. Soothing, calming.

She started shaking her head.

"Jack, I can't do this"

And he wondered what she was talking about.

"I... I tried. I tried to fit. But I don't think I am the same woman I was before. I don't think I ever will be again"

His hand stilled and she turned to face him.

"When you said you loved me, I... I... You don't love me, Jack. You love the woman I was, you love the self... self... confident lawyer, your assistant, your partner, a smart, fun woman that could and would keep up with you... challenge you. You told me this. But I'm not... I'm... not... that anymore"

A tear slowly fell from her eye. In the dim light it shone like a diamond. She turned once more towards the window, trying to hide.

"I think I should go... stay with my mother"

Jack felt as if someone had crushed him on the ground and stabbed him in his stomach. Or maybe in his heart, he didn't know.

"You don't like it here?", he managed to say.

She turned to him. He looked so lost, and she lost it too. Tears flooded her face in the blinking of an eye. She shook her head.

"I think you should move on. I want you to move on"

_Moving on. How. She has no idea_, he thought.

He gathered her in his arms.

"Claire,", he said "God, Claire, when the doctor said you might not recover from coma I... I felt... I couldn't even breathe, Claire. Please don't do this to me. We can make it, I promise you. Just don't leave me"

She sobbed desperately.

"Claire, you still _are_ that woman. You just don't remember. You like what she liked. Exactly the same things. You do what she did, you say the things that she said, you think the way she did. You just don't remember. Please Claire, give it time"

"I _have_ given it time, Jack. I did exercises every day and look, nothing's happened. I remember nothing and I speak like a retarded, for God's sake! Maybe I won't ever be the same as before... We have to face it"

Again, they didn't notice she was not speaking slow at all.

Jack stood dreadfully silent for a while.

"Listen, let's make a deal: you still live here while we wait for the hematoma to get totally reabsorbed, then we see what happens. If you still remember nothing... The decision will be up to you"

She thought a little about it.

"Ok. Deal"

And he felt like that was the worst deal he had ever made.

* * *

***A\N Sorry for the _"and I speak like a retarded"_. Claire doesn't mean it as an insult, she just wants to express the fact that she actually feels disabled. In a very un-politically-correct way, I admit that, but no offence is intended. ***


	9. Just talk

"Hello, sorry, I'm late. I couldn't remember where I'd put the keys for my bike", he said, dropping down on the chair in front of her, smiling.

She smiled too. It wasn't the first time he arrived late with her.

She watched him as he squirmed on his seat. Freud would say that he squirmed because he really wanted to get up and leave, and that he had unconsciously forgotten where his keys where, because he actually _did_ want to arrive late, maybe hoping he wouldn't find her still there, maybe just trying to delay their meeting. She knew it. She just smiled, because the man really made her smile. As much as he didn't like and didn't trust her profession, as much as he was sure all her analyses were just bullshit and only believed in them as a means to win trials, she still felt that he was afraid of what she might understand of him, and it made her smile.

"I don't mind", she said, still smiling.

He opened the menu scratching the back of his head and started reading. He rubbed his nose once, twice, then straightened his tie and finally, finally, lifted his eyes.

"So... What is this about?"

_Always direct, sharp_.

"I didn't ask your help on a case, did I?"

"You didn't. I just... wondered..."

His eyes were back on the menu. _Oh come on, Liz. You won't let yourself be intimidated_.

"How is Claire?", she asked tentatively, in her most reassuring voice.

"Fine", he spat out without looking up.

Then, when realization hit him, he snapped the menu shut.

"Is that what this is about?"

He laughed bitterly.

"Don't. Don't even try. I'm not going through your shit"

His forefinger pointed directly at her, she fixed her eyes on it. The way he waved it made it feel almost an aggression. But it was only a finger, after all.

"I don't care if Adam called you, even God himself could have called you, I don't care, all right? I won't be analyzed, I won't answer your questions, I don't want your help. So thank you, I'm sorry you wasted your time, now if you'll excuse me"

He got up in a rush, ready to get the hell out of that place. He knew it was going to happen sooner or later, that she would come to him to offer her "help", but he had no intention of letting his mind get screwed up by some strange half-doctor, half-magician.

Surprising both him and herself, she reached out and touched his arm.

"Jack, please, don't", she said, and her voice was firm, but she didn't know how to convince him.

When she didn't say more, he started to walk away again. In an almost desperate attempt she spoke again:

"No, please, listen. I... I know what you're going through"

He looked away and shook his head slowly, his jaw flexed, ready to snap and bite her.

"No, believe me, I do. Five years ago my mother was diagnosed with Alzheimer's. When she died, she didn't even remember her own name. She didn't know who I was. Jack, it was the most painful thing I had ever been through"

His expression softened. That definitely rang one or two bells in his mind. She removed her hand from his arm.

"And all the while, people around me were worried about buying Christmas presents, or where to spend their holidays. Trivial things. My mother didn't remember my name and..."

She chuckled sadly. Yes, it had been Christmas time. Trees and lights and Santas had not been the same after that. They never would be. But she didn't tell him that.

"Life was going on and I tried to go on with it. I buried myself in my job and silly parties and random guys and things like that. Anything not to think, not to feel... I think you know what I mean"

He nodded.

"And three months after her death I had a breakdown"

As she found in his eyes a resemblance of human compassion, she felt a small inner smile form in her heart. _He's human after _all.

"Is that what you want, Jack? A breakdown? Because that's where you're headed. Oh, no, let me guess: you think you won't have one. I too didn't think I would. I'm a doctor after all, I treat breakdowns, I can't have one. And still, it happened. It happens, when you refuse to face the pain, to take it in and let it out".

He sat down on the chair again.

"I'm sorry Elizabeth", he said, with a real sad glint in his eyes.

"You want to be strong for Claire", she replied, ignoring his compassion.

It was not really a question, but it wasn't a statement either. To him, it was as if Truth itself had spoken. It made him feel that she knew everything about him, about his father and his mother and his childhood and adulescence, about his own need to protect and at the same time get away and alienate himself from people.

He didn't answer. He looked at his fingers drumming on the table cloth, then up at her again, lifting his brows. She took it as a yes. Reluctant, but stil a yes. So she just nodded: if he wanted, he knew what he had to do.

"I don't want you to get inside my head", he protested faintly, finger and eyes followin the geometric path on the table cloth. He looked like pouting children, repeating over and over "Mom, mom I don't wanna" before swallowing their medicine. Just like a child, he was surrendering. It looked like she'd won the battle.

"I'm here to talk, Jack. Just talk", she smiled.

_Just talk, Jack, come on. Just talk._

"I negotiated with her. We closed a deal. The worst deal I've ever made"

The waiter silently came to stand beside Jack.

"Scotch. Straight up"

"Umm, a coffee, please"

They waited for the waiter to take the orders before they spoke again.

"Isn't it a little early to drink scotch, Jack? It's 4 pm"

"It's never too early to drink scotch"

The waiter returned with their orders.

"You were saying about a deal"

Jack gulped down eagerly.

"Yeah. Gonna lose on this one"

"I'm sorry, I'm not sure I understand what you're talking about"

So he explained.

He talked. For hours.

* * *

When he got home, Claire was in the bathroom doing her exercises. He heard her repeat _electroencephalographically_, that she had read was the longest word on the Webster.

He knocked on the door.

"Claire, I'm home"

She stopped abruptly mid-word and opened the door.

"Hi", she said, and smiled, "electroencephalographically. How does it sound?"

"It's... fine... fine, really! Well done, Claire"

She had improved hugely in the past weeks. He was proud of her. But still, she remembered nothing. He pulled her towards him and hugged her, kept her close. _As close as possible, as long as I can_.

"I made some dinner too. I tried with pasta again... I hope it's edible this time"

He laughed, then swallowed.

"You're doing great, Claire", he said, words stumbling on the lump in his throat.

She pulled away and eyed him carefully, and he knew his words must have come out choked.

_Cut me some slack, Claire_.

She let him get away with it, something else was on her mind. She moved to the kitchen, poured herself some water.

"So... You found out what the "date" was about?"

The amused look on her face was wonderful.

He'd told her he didn't know why dr. Olivet wanted to see him and she'd joked on it. _Maybe it's a date, Jack. Maybe she has the hots for you, and since I'm out for the count..._ And she'd laughed with all her heart, and he had too.

"It was... nothing really"

"Nothing, Jack?! You were out for three hours!"

She laughed again, mocking him.

He hadn't realized he had been out that long.

"You jealous?", he asked, smirking, just to remind her she wasn't the only one who could mock.

"We... talked. Just... talked".


End file.
